White Noise
by AnabelleG
Summary: Their relationship is redefined when Booth discovers why Brennan has been so withdrawn and tense recently.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't know where the idea for this one came from, or truth be told, where it is going. But there was something fascinating about what Brennan would really do in this situation—so, hope I got it right, or at least made it an interesting read. –AnaG**

For more than fifteen minutes, Booth paced the width of the room. At each turn, he cast a look at the closed door. With every circuit, his mood shifted in a definable pattern. Worried and tense on the left side of the room. Confused and uncertain by the time he reached the right side.

He didn't know what to do next and the inability to act completely unnerved him. Was he supposed to the be the sensitive guy and wait patiently until she was ready to talk? Or the alpha male man of action that banged on the door and insisted that she open up? Over the years, he thought he'd become pretty adept at gauging her moods and anticipating her reactions. But this time, without quite knowing why or how, he sensed that tonight they had crossed into unfamiliar territory.

Suddenly running out of steam, he sank onto the edge of the bed, eyes still focused on the locked door that separated them. The truth was that something had been wrong for days. Nothing overt, nothing that he could pinpoint. Just a faint static between them that had never been there before.

But tonight, without warning, the disconnect had exploded into a wall of white noise that he couldn't get past. She had been withdrawn all day. By the time they sat down at the restaurant for dinner, she wasn't responding to his questions or laughing at his jokes. Worst of all, her eyes refused to meet his the entire evening.

The habit long established, they'd ended up at his place by default. Not that he expected anything would happen. His only plan was to hope that routine would help them slide unnoticed past the conflict, that after a good night's sleep they would wake up next to each other in the morning and it would be as if nothing had happened.

A plan that fell apart as soon as they walked through the door. He was half a step behind her, looking for the familiar pattern. Usually, she dropped her bag on the table by the door and left her shoes neatly aligned with the coffee table before curling into the far corner of the sofa to wait for him. His pulse increased as she missed each milestone and headed directly for the bathroom without once looking in his direction. By the time the door closed after her with quiet finality, he wasn't sure that he remembered how to breathe.

That had been—he took a quick glance at his watch—twenty minutes ago. At first, he staved off the sense of panic, chiding himself for overreacting. The calm had lasted the length of time it took for him to shed his suit; once he changed into sweats and a t-shirt, the pacing had started.

At first, it was fueled by flashes of irritation and frustration, his mind verging perilously close to thoughts like 'typical Brennan shutdown' and 'how dare she'. But that lasted as long as it took him to remember that he _did_ know her—knew the difference between a hoity-toity-snit-fit and real trouble. This, whatever it was, was real.

And there he was, he thought, sitting there like a grade-A jackass, doing nothing. At the same time that realization hit him, he heard a low groan from behind the door. It was faint, almost hidden, but loaded with enough fear and desperation that it shattered his paralysis. He was at the door, demanding that she let him in, twisting the knob against the lock. He leaned into the wooden surface, prepared to break through it, at the same moment that she suddenly opened the door.

Unprepared, his momentum carried him through the doorway and within inches from where she stood. One look at her face though, brought him to an immediate halt. Her jaw was drawn tightly, her mouth a thin tense line. But it was her eyes that gave everything away—he could see the bright shine of tears, and behind that, the heat of anger brightly burning them away before they had a chance fall.

"What is going…..oww, what the hell?"

"This is all your fault, Booth." She stated heatedly.

Stunned, he rubbed his chest as whatever she'd thrown at him clattered on the floor. Before he could process what was happening, she slammed past him, knocking his shoulder into doorjamb. As he regained his balance, his eye happened on the object that had fallen dead center on the tiled floor.

Hands shaking, he reached for the white plastic stick and turned it over. It wasn't until he saw the bright blue plus sign staring back at him that he realized he'd been holding his breath.

"Oh. God."

The answers flew at him with dizzying speed. An open cardboard package resting on the counter next to her bag. The shredded pieces of the instruction insert scattered over the floor. All of the tension, her reticence over the last few days.

In the space of about three seconds, he experienced more than he thought possible, more than he thought could be contained. Unadulterated joy. Question after question. Swift fear about the future. Confusion. Hope. And above it all, an unyielding need to hold her.

"Temperance…"

He turned back to the bedroom, only to find his world upended for the second time that night. She was moving randomly around the room, gathering the belongings that had casually accumulated over the last few months. Dismayed, he watched as she tried to shove a worn running shoe into the already jammed overnight bag resting on the bed.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going home." She answered bluntly without looking in her direction as she abandoned the shoe and reached for the earrings she'd left on the endtable the previous night.

"You don't think we need to talk about this?" He asked, holding up the pregnancy test to make his point.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, I…."

He didn't have a chance to finish the question before she turned to face him.

"How could you do this to me?" She lashed out, defying her own refusal to discuss the situation.

"How could I…" He sputtered, his anger rising. "Excuse me, babe, but I think if you check your facts it takes _two_…and I don't seem to recall you turning down a chance to…"

"I was on the pill."

"Un-huh. Clear _that_ wasn't a hundred percent effective, now was it." He said, his voice laced with sarcasm as he tossed the plastic stick on the bed between them. "I still don't see why that has you pissed off at me…"

"I was protected, Booth. So, obviously it had to be you and your…" Flushing pink, she gestured at his midsection as she stumbled over the words.

"My what, hm? Don't be shy now, Bones." He goaded, edging closer to her.

She crossed her arms defensively over her chest even as her chin rose in slight defiance.

"Clearly it was the impetus of your alpha male, warrior, _that guy_ spermatozoa to get at my oocyte and…"

He stared at her in disbelief, certain that he had just fallen down a squintified version of the freaking rabbit hole. It was just impossible not to laugh.

"Do you hear what you are saying? God, the hormones must already be…"

"I can't believe you're laughing at me." She muttered as she wilted onto the edge of the bed.

"Ah, Bones." He said as he sat next to her and took her hand in his. "I understand. Really. This is—I know. But it could have been anything. Someone at the pill factory screwed up or fate just decided that it was our turn, but the important thing now is…"

He stopped talking as she fell back on the bed and covered her face with her hands.

"No, no, no."

"Temperance?" He asked with concern. Uncertain what new tangent his words had set off, he gently pulled her hands away.

"The antibiotics. For the ear infection I had last month. They interact with birth control and I…I forgot." She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Booth. This is all my fault."

"No, don't you see?" He leaned down next to her, brushing a wave of hair from her forehead, placing a light touch against her stomach. "This—this isn't about fault, Temperance. And I know you weren't prepared for this, and you're scared. But I promise, swear, that once you're used to the idea, you'll be able to see this is a good thing, a wonderful, precious…"

His words trailed away as her eyes opened at met his with flat certainty.

"No. No, Booth. I won't."

Without giving him a chance to respond, she rose and grabbed her overnight bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

"I need to go. Don't….just, don't. Please."

"But…" He began, rising to follow her.

"I need time, space to think. Don't you understand, Booth?" Her voice began to waver. "My whole world just fell apart. This—this is my worst nightmare."

"Having my kid's that bad?" He asked, the hurt rising, her words hitting him with the force of a sledgehammer.

She flinched and then her face closed, shut down completely. And he for the first time, he realized how little he did know her.

"Go." He said and turned away from her, regretting the words the minute he heard the door close behind her.

**xxxxxxx**

He sat in the dark, listening to the rain against the windows and nursing a glass of bourbon that he really didn't have the stomach for anymore. The emotions running through him twisted and turned until he gave up trying to untangle them. He just sat there and took the blows as they came.

The knock on the door was hesitant at first, then grew insistent. His first instinct was to ignore it, but without really intending to, he found himself opening the door.

She looked like she'd been through a wringer. Clothes soaked, mascara smeared beneath her eyes, her pale face standing in stark contrast to the rain-darkened hair plastered to her head. And, heaven help him, still the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

Involuntarily, he eyes fell to her stomach before traveling back to her face. He studied her, waiting for an answer as to why she'd shown up on his doorstep after demanding to be left alone.

"I know I said—I shouldn't be here."

He had a million responses—one for every thought that had crossed through his mind since she'd left—but he didn't put a single one into words. Instead, whether due to indecision or self-dense or hint of retribution, he stood silent and waited for her to continue.

"But I'm scared, Booth."

The confession was soft and unfettered. And so, even though he had the sensation of stepping from a precipice, he stepped back and motioned for her to enter.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for the feedback on the first chapter--and apologies for taking so long with the follow-up. I'm still feeling my way through this story and the pieces were a little slow to fall into place for this chapter. Hope you find it interesting! - AnaG**

Booth ambled in and tossed his keys on the small table near the door. Already shedding the weight of the workday, his mind zeroed in on dinner plans. It had been awhile since they'd made it to Wong Foo's. He wondered if he could talk Brennan into a trip to Sid's. For old times sake.

"You home, Bones?" he called out as he headed into the living room. "What do you think about…?"

His words trailed away when he saw her curled up in the corner of the couch, fast asleep, the book she'd been reading still open in her lap. He crossed the room with exaggerated care, not wanting to disturb her. It wasn't something he saw all that much of these days--Brennan, still and quiet. At peace.

Slowly, he eased the book from beneath her hand and picked up the afghan that had fallen to the floor. He began to draw the blanket over her, and then hesitated. With a quick glance at her face, he gently rested his palm against the curve of her belly. At first, there was only a flutter, so faint that he thought it might be wishful thinking. Then there it was, movement, a definite pressure, as if a tiny fist was pushing back against his hand.

"Hey there, baby…." he whispered.

Suddenly, Brennan stirred and he jerked his hand away. Guilt washing over him, he stood completely still, praying that he hadn't woken her. She shifted again and then settled back into sleep, her hand coming to rest where his own had been only seconds before.

He sank into a nearby chair, unable to take his eyes away from her.

"Ah, Temperance. What are we doing?" he muttered to himself.

When the silent room offered no easy answers, he leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes. God only knew, he thought, how two people managed to drum up so much angst and drama between them, but they were aces at it. Certified, pin-the-blue-ribbon-on-them champions.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Months earlier…_

"Go away, Booth."

"Are you…" He stopped, wincing as another spasm wracked her body. It killed him to see her like this, so miserable. But she wouldn't let him do a thing to help her.

Finally, her white-knuckled grip on the porcelain relaxed and she leaned away from the toilet, wiping her mouth with a damp washcloth. Standing behind her, he watched as her shoulders rose and fell, unsure if she was crying or simply trying to catch her breath after the latest wave of nausea.

"Please let me…" he tried again.

"I told you. I'm fine," she said, her voice wavering. "I just--I need to be alone."

"But I…"

"Go…oh, god," she choked out before leaning forward again.

Despite her certainty, he hesitated, tempted to reason with her, to insist on doing something, anything, to ease her discomfort as the retching began again.

"Please."

This time, the tears in her voice were clear, strong enough to push him back through the doorway, giving her what she said she wanted. With a shake of his head, he softly closed the door between them.

Fifteen minutes later, he stood guard outside the door, still waiting for her to emerge, determined not to let her avoid him this time. For the last few weeks, sensitive to the havoc the unexpected pregnancy was playing with her life, he given her time to adjust, accommodated her push-and-pull attitude towards him. But he was tired of being shoved aside, of never knowing where he stood with her, and, come hell or high water, he was going to make sure she understood that. This time she wasn't going to walk right past him and act as if nothing was wrong.

Which, given the startled look on her face when she opened the door and saw him standing there waiting, was exactly what she had planned. He had to give her credit though; she recovered quickly, her features settling into neutral as she walked briskly into the kitchen.

"Not now," she said when he followed her.

"Yes, now," he insisted and reached for her arm, turning her to face him. When he saw the exhaustion drawn tightly over her face, the shadows in the hollows of her eyes, his need for confrontation vanished.

"I don't want to fight again." She turned away to open the cupboard, rifling through the shelves with increasing irritation. "Where are the…"

"Here." He held out the saltine crackers that she'd left on the counter just before the last bout of morning sickness had sent her running. She just stood there, hand on the cabinet door, looking from the box in his hand to his face, regarding both with equal measures of suspicion.

"Take the damn crackers, Temperance," he said, unable to keep the frustration from his voice.

He saw the response flicker across her face, before she closed her mouth and reached for the box. Leaning back against the counter, he waited as she ate two of the crackers, saw the relief they brought the moment it crossed her face.

"Feeling better?"

"A little. Yes," she said, and then paused, looking away from him. "Thank you."

"Sure. Glad I could help," he replied, the words hovering somewhere between defeat and sarcasm. With a sigh, he levered away from the counter and, at loss for what else to do, walked back towards the bedroom.

"What more do you want from me, Seeley?"

The tone of her question stopped him in his tracks. Slowly, he turned to look at her, not bothering to keep the disbelief from his face. Speechless, he waited for her to continue.

"I'm doing my best to handle a situation that I was in no way prepared for. And now you're angry because I didn't want you around when I was sick…"

"That's what you think this was about? That I got my feelings hurt because you wouldn't let me hold your hair back while you puked?"

"Simple cause and effect. It seems the most direct, rational explanation."

"Rational explanation, hm?" he said with a grim chuckle. "You just don't get it, do you?"

"What?"

"This? This has _nothing_ to do with being rational. This is about you having to have all the answers. You being so afraid of being seen as weak or, heaven forbid, actually needing someone, that you push everyone away."

"You're wrong."

"Then tell me something," he said, moving closer, taking her hands in his as he looked into her eyes, wanting to see her answer as it formed. "Why do you keep shutting me out every single time I…?"

"Shutting you out?" She jerked her hands away, stepping back from him. "Don't you understand how much I've already…How much more together can we be? I'm pregnant with _your_ child. I moved in here, into _your_ home, because it is what _you_ wanted. Without arguing, without one word of complaint."

"Our home. You've been here almost a month now and you still call it…"

"Semantics? Now you're upset over…"

"You kept your apartment."

The single sentence, quiet and hard, startled her into stillness.

"What? I don't…" she stammered.

"The real estate agent called while you were out yesterday. Wanted to know if you would reconsider taking it off the market." He paused, letting the evidence sit in the silence between them. "I thought we'd agreed."

"Yes, we did. But I decided that it was more practical to keep it. As an investment."

"As a place to run," he immediately challenged. "Admit it."

She didn't say anything, but then again, she didn't have to. The fact that she wouldn't meet his eyes confirmed his suspicions.

"Hell of a lot of faith you've got in us there, Bones," he said softly and sank onto the edge of the bed.

This time, he was the one that looked away, the distance stretching between them, waiting, still hoping, maybe, that she would give him some reason to believe that he was wrong. She sat next to him and sighed.

"I need somewhere to go to…think. You're always here. Hovering. Like you're certain that I can't handle…"

"I don't…"

"…and when it's not that, you're asking questions, wanting decisions, before I've had time to make sense of this, of all of it."

"And you think that you have to do that alone. On your own," he stated flatly.

"It's who I am."

"No, Temperance. It's who you were."

"You can't possibly…"

"Push me away all you want, Temperance, "he interrupted, taking her hand in his, gently placing it on her stomach. "But with or without me, you are not alone. Not anymore."

He watched as her gaze lingered on their hands, felt her fingers tighten around his.

"You're being sentimental again," she quietly chided.

"Yeah, well. It's who I am."

She looked up at him, a reluctant smile forming and fading from her face.

"We're not…," she sighed. "This isn't going very well is it?"

"Ah, don't worry," he said, sliding his arm around her. "We'll figure it out."

"Promise?"

Drawing her closer, he kissed the top of her head, the truth constricting in his throat. There was no way to tell her that he didn't know what came next, or that every day made it harder to see the happy ending. Instead, he told her what they both wanted to hear, to believe.

"Promise."


End file.
